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When I get my haircut I like to imagine 

The barber is you. 

I don’t notice the Eminem playing 

or the feline purr of the clippers 

or the whir of electricity 

from the shop’s neon Suavecito sign. 

I think about his big and soft hands 

that press my ear to my cheek 

and crane my neck back 

showing me that I’m handsome. 

Me looking into the mirror 

You looking at me and finally asking 

How was your day? 

Got plans this weekend? 

and you are beside me 

grazing my temples 

measuring and sectioning out strands of me,

carefully untangling each one 

while I gaze, dimly 

thinking about those fake silver rings 

that leave turquoise specters around your giant fingers

that once petted my stubble like a stray cat. 

So when I see my haircut is uneven 

and I know it’ll have to grow it out again

I still tell him 

It’s just what I asked for! 

I’ll see you again! 

That way I leave without losing 

more than that to an EyeVac.

—Dean Farella

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